


You CAN base love on an algorithm?

by allforconniebonacieux



Series: Supercat Week 3 [6]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Dating Agency, Dialogue Heavy, F/F, Fluff, Supercat Week 3, VERY belated, let me know if I need to tag anything else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 05:10:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10984029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allforconniebonacieux/pseuds/allforconniebonacieux
Summary: Sueprcat Week 3: SoulmatesDay 6: Dating AgencyA super late entry on my part: Cat Grant phoned up at one minute to closing. Now an unfortunate(?) receptionist must talk her through one of the most emotional decisions of her life. Finding her soulmate.





	You CAN base love on an algorithm?

**Author's Note:**

> Very late: see note at end for more  
> Heads up: I feel this does get pretty heavy in places-IF YOU THINK I NEED TO TAG SOMETHING, PLEASE TELL ME AND I WILL ASAP. It is overall quite light, but there are implications in parts of issues I know might be sensitive- please, please, do tell me.

“Ms Grant, I assure you, our system is ninety two percent accurate- and that eight only includes those who don't wish to be with their match because they are flagged as felons or abusers.” The receptionist soothed her over the phone, “All customers who accept the matches we find, all of them, report that a strong relationship is formed, be it romantically, or platonically. We’ve even found family members that were close when younger but lost contact, as I’m sure you’ve seen on our website-”

 

“Of course I’ve seen your website. I’ve also seen Lois Lane parading about in a replica of Michelle Pfeiffer's Catwoman outfit, but am I complaining about that?” The receptionist didn’t answer, not really understanding what was going on. “Of course I am, no one should have to see that sort of affront to nature, apart from her farm boy boy-toy.”

 

“Ms Grant, I’m not sure what you-”

 

“And I’ve seen her flaunting her obviously fake diamond engagement ring on her social media. I don’t know why she thinks Kent could afford to buy her that.” Cat carried on, as the receptionist began to wonder exactly why the mogul was hung up on Lane. She’d read all the gossip articles, knew the whole sordid tale, but her slightly older coworker who’d worked at the Planet for a brief stint in the early nineties had told her that they hadn’t fought over a guy as the press always suggested, but it had been an epic doomed-from-the-start relationship with each other that had led to a huge fallout and Cat flying across the country and setting up the now global CatCo whose subsidiary newspapers more often than not outsold the Planet. 

 

They were now on much better terms, and just left their supposed animosity to each other be the public story so they could get drunk and laugh about it together. It made sense. God knew that Cat Grant could have shut down every company that went for the overused “Cat-fight” headlines. But it didn’t quite explain why Cat Grant had phoned up at eight fifty eight on the dot, when business hours should be about to end, to start a long complaint about the service. Sighing, she readjusted herself in the chair. This might take a while.

 

She waved goodbye to the few employees trekking out, their sympathy holding fast as they heard the continued complaints about Lois Lane and her long time fiance. Apparently he hadn’t bought her a ring until now because his pocket money wasn’t enough to buy more than a Haribo. She winced, as did Barbara from HR who was hanging back to take up any gossip. Barbara was shooed away as Cat’s tirade came to an end, a full- she spun in her chair to check the time on her computer- eight minutes after it started. Not bad. 

 

“Ms Grant, I’m sorry you’re not satisfied with our service. Is it alright if I pull up your information?” There was a pause on the other end, the distant sound of car horns and city life in the background.

“You don’t already have it up?” 

 

“No Ms Grant. It’s company policy. Your information is only seen by you and our algorithm. Any persons here at the company will only access it with your permission if you are not satisfied, or without if your match if flagged up on our servers as a risk to you or the public. Then we contact you to inform you to see if you wish to proceed with our service and try again or if you would like the refund- made payable back to you or to a charitable cause chosen by our customers. This month it is Find Your Better Hearts, a National City based charity that aim to ensure every child requiring any heart based surgery or transplant, receives the top care at the lowest possible cost.” She explained,“Of course, all this information is available on our website.” She couldn’t help the little jab, she’d had so many other customers who made complaints, but had they actually read the website? No. They hadn’t. From their earlier conversation, it was clear Cat had, but still. This part was all over their home page. 

 

The intake of breath she heard on the other end made her feel a twinge of guilt, a small ounce of worry that she just might end up fired and unable to get work again if Ms Grant complained. But instead she heard another brief pause, then a small chuckle, dry and barely there, like a gasp of air, instead of humour. Maybe she wasn’t in the clear.

 

“All right, I deserved that one.” Phew. She might be safe. “No one’s really spoken to me like that for a while. It threw me.” There was another, more prolonged pause. “In your database-”

 

“No one apart from me will see it. I will need to know what you want to do, so I know what to look for, but this is between you and me. And your match, if I can help you sort this.” She reassured. She might not be an official match assistant, but she knew how to work a spreadsheet. She settled more firmly at her desk and got to work, pulling up the programme, and searching for the right name. “I need your four digit passcode to access the information if that’s okay.”

 

“Ten-fifteen.” Was the response she got, and she carefully typed it out. The awkward silence as the page loaded was a bit much, so she tried her best to lighten the tone. 

 

“Is that your birthday or something? Bearing in mind I will see that for certain when the page loads?” Alright, maybe not her best. Strangely though, she got another chuckle, more genuine this time.

 

“Not my birthday, no. It’s...it’s silly. Definitely not my bank pin, in case you get any ideas.” The joke eased the tension a bit, and she leaned back as the computer whirred, keeping a grip on the phone.

 

“No promises. But it’s important? Your son’s birthday? Your mother’s birthday? Your inheritance from your mother?” A snort was her answer there, strange to hear from _the_ Cat Grant, “You also need to tell me why I’m looking, so I’ll easily accept either answer. And the computer is acting up, so I might have time to hear both.” If the classic look of waggled eyebrows could have a verbal tone, it was that which graced Cat’s ears. Cat sighed on the other end.

 

“Ten-fifteen is...it’s the time my life changed. It’s also why I’m bothering you.” The light tone shifted, and the receptionist leaned forward, planting her feet on the ground, feeling the somber air of this conversation. If Cat Grant was going to open her heart to her, she would not have her feet on the desk. There was a shaky breath, that seemed to echo in her ear against the quiet of the now empty office and the cacophony of traffic on Cat’s end.

 

“There was a girl...a woman. I met her and...everything changed. It was like my whole world turned, everything I knew was suddenly wrong, but it was okay because she could right it all. But I ignored that feeling and carried on like I didn’t see what she was. Like I didn’t see her. I ignored her for two years. Two years of breaking my own damn heart because I was too proud to notice her.” A bitter laugh followed this statement, followed by what sounded like the clinking of ice in a glass. If she wasn’t still technically on the clock because of this call, she would have taken out the sly bottle left over from the Christmas party hidden in the bottom drawer. Actually, looking round the deserted office, she was off the clock given that it was now well after hours, and if the customer was drinking, well, anything to make them more comfortable. 

 

As she waited for Cat to resume, she took the bottle of average whiskey leftover from the last office-do and poured some into the empty “I Heart National City” coffee mug by the monitor, which still showed the page lagging. Not that Cat seemed to care, as she began her story again.

 

“I’ve never bought into the soulmates idea. Not since I was little. It’s like religion- I want to believe, god do I want to believe in _something_. That unwavering faith of a higher power, be it a deity or the universe. I want to feel that peace people have. But I haven’t…My parents weren’t matches. I found my father’s paperwork for it in a box of his things when my mother was selling my childhood home. This was when it was all paperwork, and it could take years for the cross-referencing to get through. He and my mother were never matches, nowhere close. But he couldn’t be with his match, it just wasn’t acceptable. Not for a man from a family as proud as his. Not for a man who needed to give that family a son, an heir, someone to pass down the Grant name and continue the legacy of being rich and doing nothing.”

 

She scoffed.

 

“My father never accepted that. He was always doing something, campaigning for human rights, equal rights, civil rights... He always seemed to be on the edge, always so passionate about what he was fighting for, but he was always such a calm man. I never heard him raise his voice outside of a protest or rally. When I was thirteen I came home and found a letter from him- he and his match were going to try and set up a life somewhere, damn the laws. He was sick of waiting, he wrote, and he was sick of living a lie. My mother had always been angry with him because she’d been the consolation prize, he’d never wanted her for more than a place holder, to keep the bloodhounds off his back. He told me that he wished he’d been able to give me a proper goodbye, but he couldn’t stay until I got home from school, or mother would know what he was doing and he’d never get the chance to be with his match.” A sharp, shaky breath filled the phone, and the voice carried on, wet with emotion, “I never saw him again. Mother had figured it out and phoned the police and he was _apparently_ caught in the midst of a carjacking gone wrong. His match would have been convicted for it, if he hadn’t been shot by the police when they caught up with them- the official story is he was the perpetrator and my father was found alone, no match with him. He was dead before I even found the letter.” A shaky sob. “He couldn’t drive.”

 

There was silence, on both ends, and then the sound of tears obviously being held back. At a loss for what to do, the receptionist kept quiet. The muffled sobs soon were replaced with more glass clanking, and then a bottle being poured. This process was repeated once more before Cat was able to talk.

 

“I never believed in the matches after that. I couldn’t, not in the same way I did as a kid. Just trying to be with his match got him killed, and my mother was the one who caused it. Then when I came out to her, she was...livid. It was unbecoming she said, it was bad enough with the shame of my father, but this stuff must all be genetic, but no daughter of hers would be so disgraceful. I was fifteen and my mother disowned me there and then. Not publicly of course, no. No, the shame of that. Can you imagine?” The sardonic chuckle that came through was just another reminder for the receptionist to keep quiet. No wonder Cat had built her empire the way she had, with her walls as high as her office building. “She’d have to explain why, the questions people would ask. It would ruin her. So I was shipped back off to boarding school, then to college, and I was only allowed back home to attend my grandmother’s funeral and for the Christmas parties. Once, I brought Lois back as a date… well, suddenly I was too busy working every Christmas to be able to attend. Nothing like Christmas in a city constantly plagued with attacks from terrorists and aliens. Pretty much the same thing now in Metropolis, seeing as Superman never learned to drop his lone wolf approach. At least Supergirl’s shady agency arrests them instead of just leaving them in the street like he does. Typical man, leave someone else to clear his mess.” A scoff, and the familiar tinkle of ice. 

 

“I don’t mean to be rude-”

 

“Yes you do.”

 

“...I mean to be rude,” A huff of laughter on the other end, “But I’m wondering why you signed up for our matching service. It’s well documented, you’ve never searched for your soulmate before, you put building your company as your greatest achievement in your Millennium edition of CatCo magazine, and all of your reporting that led to you beating Lois Lane for a Pulitzer second, because ‘if she had focused on her actual job instead of pratting about finding her soulmate and flirting with Superman, she might have found the corrupt Governor that was stealing the education fund to build his own golf course sooner, especially since all she had to do was look in her bed’. So why now?”

 

“If you’d read the first five years in review I did, you would have seen my greatest achievement was actually my son, then my company.”

 

“Cat.”

 

“ ...I haven’t even opened the file I was sent. I can’t. I can’t risk it. How could I?” 

 

“Do you want it to be a specific person?” She broached carefully, already knowing the answer, “This happens a lot. People who are so certain that they’ve already found the person best for them, they get scared when they have to face that they might be wrong. It’s completely normal. We have therapists in house who you can talk this through with, all completely confidential. The universe is a scary thing, Cat. It’s okay to have help accepting that.” 

 

There was a more prolonged pause this time, as both digested that. Waiting for Cat to ready herself again, the receptionist remembered being in this situation herself, the relentless hope that she was right, that the universe had come through and given her the fairy tale love story she’d dreamed of. She’d prayed, something she hadn’t done since she was a teen, since she’d grown up far too much for someone so young. It hadn’t been by choice, and it wasn’t something she’d ever wish for anyone else, but it had happened, and as much of a reality check it had been, she’d still clung onto her childish dreams of true romance, immediate belonging with another soul. So she’d prayed a near forgotten prayer, and opened the file and spent a week so full of air and elation she’d nearly floated. She still hadn’t gone to her soulmate though, wanted them to get their own results. It would only be more painful if it turned out they were hers, but she could never be theirs. 

“Yes.” 

 

That lone syllable shook the receptionist out of her thoughts of her own slipping opportunity.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Yes. I...I do want it to be...her. But it can’t be. It can’t be okay. It can’t be _her_.” Cat started slow, but her emotions were clearly getting the best of her usually controlled demeanor and the thoughts normally secured in the back of her mind, never acknowledged, were now in the process of all tumbling out. 

 

“Why not? Everyone deserves the chance of happiness. Why not you? You got matched, you’re human- you have the same right to a soulmate as anyone.” 

 

“Dammit I know that. I was writing pieces on gay people being denied matching services since you were a Millennial glimmer in your parent’s eyes.”

 

“I know, your ongoing series on the injustices in Chechnya and how Russia is not the only country to take that stance has been crucial in our work expanding to an international level but maintaining the complete confidentiality we offer here in the US. Off the record, a delegate will be speaking to the UN in a month’s time, and we’re hoping to have the soulmate rights clause enforced and officially recognised as a human right. If we can get them to recognise aliens too in this, then we’re hoping our database will be able to expand with humanity’s connections to other species.”

 

“Off the record or not, why the hell are you just telling me that? That all sounds as confidential as your customer profiles.”

 

The receptionist shrugged, despite knowing Cat couldn’t see her, a small smile playing across her features.

 

“If the board wants it confidential then members should be told they shouldn’t use it as pick up lines on company employees in the middle of the office floor during breaks between the meetings where they decide who to send to speak to the UN. Heads up: it won’t be the latest board member Christoph Forest- The guy inherited all his money, harassed female employees and will be formally sacked from the board this coming Wednesday at an quiet open meeting- if any reporters wanted to drop by, they would have to sign in at say, nine thirty, proceed to the boardroom, where they would find the board and all employees who wish to know what the board plans to do this coming quarter, and then if they had questions about _why_ he is being sacked- well, that is up to their discretion.” 

 

A pause.

 

“Interesting.” Cat drawled. “And, if a reporter knew someone with insider knowledge and apparently no regard for company policies-”

 

“Then they would be told that the company cannot comment at this time as of course this is not public knowledge- but if the reporter absolutely cannot wait until Wednesday, then perhaps looking into Forest’s extensive history of abusing partners, his old Twitter account which before being archived held many anti-alien views, and one in particular joking about how his business trips to Asia are more fun with local women, and how much would it cost to bring one or eight back with him, would be of use to said reporter.” The venom in her voice made it clear these were just a few highlights as it were of the man’s behaviour

 

“It should be noted, the company was not aware of this activity when he was accepted on to the board, using his family’s wealth to buy his seat from a retiring member,” Was mumbled quietly as Cat listened, “And as clearly stated on our website we at Hearts Bound do not support abuse of any sort, and work with the police to ensure that, we strive to be an equal opportunity employer- currently the only company in the world to have an alien on the board, two in fact, as well as our CFO, and we do not, absolutely do not, accept slavery and trafficking, especially of those in vulnerable positions who are exploited by entitled white men who think with their dicks and only care about getting that wet than actually about the effect they have and what they could be doing to help others if they took their heads out their _fucking_ asses-”

 

“I can tell you are not a fan of this...excuse for a human being” 

 

“Not at all.”

 

“His name has come up before in reports, but we were always pushed to sweep it under the rug- my mother even wanted me to marry his father, tried to get me on a date with him a few years ago too ...Disgusting man, I’m not surprised he’s the same...You can trust me- he is going to be investigated with very close scrutiny, I know people in some high up places, and believe me, even one of those crappy behaviours would have him thrown in a cell in their books. If your bosses are amenable, one of my contacts can approach them, and they can make it out to be an inside job orchestrated by you to catch him and anyone he knows who might actually act on his views.”

 

“I’ll pass it on.” She made a note on a nearby post-it, and made a mental one to talk to one of the heads as soon as possible tomorrow. 

 

“Good. Also, make a note, if you ever need a job- your questionable grasp of confidentiality aside, you can find one at CatCo. Receptionist, reporter, garbage lady- whatever floats your boat. You might even be assistant material. And after my last one, those are some tough shoes to fill, believe me.”

 

“Your ex-assistant, the reason you’re calling, right?” Cat went silent. The receptionist carried on, coaxing her. “It’s pretty obvious. She’s the stuff of legends- no one ever lasted a month, let alone nearly three years. All admin staff in National City are told the legend of Kiera- the assistant who lasted. You’re scared to acknowledge that it might be her- a former employee, someone who probably knows you better than yourself in some ways, who is, alright, a bit younger than you, and the misogynistic society we live in has maybe instilled fears in you that maybe you aren’t as desirable as someone younger, so you’re internalising everything because you’re scared to accept that actually you’re right and she loves you back and you are deserving of love even though men have apparently decided that because you’re past thirty five you can’t be desired.” Silence. She let it sink in for a moment, “Am I close or am I right? Because I know it’s the second.”

 

She waited, ten, twenty seconds.

 

“Fuck you.” 

 

“There we go.”

 

“Why am I talking to you? I have a therapist-”

 

“Your last therapist published the records of your meetings so you had his licence revoked and now have a mistrust of your current one, even though you probably have her in a contract so tight she can’t even tell anyone she has you scheduled in for appointments.” Silence again.

 

“How are you so good at this?” 

 

“You pick up a few tricks when you work on the front desk. Reading people and gossip magazines mostly.”

 

“That explains the blabbermouth.”

 

“Yes, and this classic avoidance explains that you are really scared to open the file.” She checked the computer, “And my computer doesn’t want to work either, even after,” She checked the time, “nearly forty minutes, so I guess it’s sensing your struggle. Talk it out with me, come on.”

 

“You are awful at your job.”

 

“And yet, you are still on the line.” Cat hummed her acquiescence.

 

“What is it? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. Tell me your story, and I’ll bear my heart like my therapist has wanted me to for the past two years.” The receptionist mulled it over

 

“Sounds fair. Alright.” She shifted in her seat. “Get comfy now, it’s story time. I took the test when I graduated college, and kept the file unopened in a drawer until I felt secure place in my job, like a reward. Get one secure income, then have the resources to find your soulmate, y’know? Don’t forget to collect your money when you pass go. Took about two years. So I opened it. Saw who it was. Nearly cried in the office. I actually cried when I got home. I was...overjoyed. It was someone who I’d had this connection with, since meeting. Not an instantaneous lovestruck connection, like the movies and those trashy Katherine Granted books-”

 

“My mother publishes them.”

 

“I’m so sorry for you. They are so bad.” Cat huffed in agreement, a sound eerily like a chuckle. “Anyway, we...fit. I thought I’d imagined it. But, turns out, they hadn’t taken the test. And call me a feminist, but I want my soulmate to know we’re a match, let them have a say. Screw the universe, let us decide, y’know.”

 

“...You know, you seem to be an awfully big fan of mine.”

 

“And you seem to be stalling. So hush. There’s not much else to it anyway- I haven’t spoken to her about it, she hasn’t said anything to me, I’m fine being a single pringle-”

 

A quiet “Oh my God” filled her ear through the phone. She grinned.

 

“And now, it’s your turn. Tell me your secrets, don’t tell me no lies, I am legally obligated to tell you I won’t tell another soul that you have feelings and anxieties like the rest of us.”

 

“...I retract my earlier job offer. You can work in the garbage room.”

 

“Cat.” A sigh.

 

“Fine, look. I’m- I’m scared. So scared. Because what if it’s her? It can’t be. I can’t have matched her. Internalised misogyny aside, that doesn’t excuse that I’m not right for her- I’m a workaholic, alcoholic, mother of two- Christ, she _dated_ my son. They went on a date. I have a bad enough relationship with him- I can’t ruin it again.”

 

“They went on one date? That’s not even close to dating. If he’s shallow enough to hate you for dating a girl you’ve loved longer than he’s known either of you- he’s a dick. Son or not, it’s plain as hell you didn’t raise him if that’s how he is.”

 

“That’s...fair. His father is an ass. But still- I’ve ruined my relationship with _her_ before. What if I do it again? Soulmates doesn’t mean happy. It just means you have a higher chance of being so.”

 

“We have a ninety two percent success rate, I think, if you’ve matched her, unless either of you show signs of being an abuser, you’re going to be just fine.” She reassured. “Plus- you’ve spent three years building a relationship with her that already makes you better off than the seventy two percent of customers, who are matched with complete strangers with no acquaintances or clear connection.” This drew a shaky laugh from the other woman. 

 

“What if it isn’t her? You just wasted an hour talking to an old woman about her pick for a mid-life crisis fling.”

 

“Then you’re disappointed. But it’s an algorithm. Fuck our success rate, you built a multi-media, multi-million company from the ground up, by yourself. You _are_ a success, and if you open up to her, no matter what the file says, then you’re already in a better place than you are now. You have the chance for something brilliant, I can tell. Don’t waste your chance, Cat. Seize it. Jump into the unknown.” 

There was a long pause. 

 

“Let’s make it fair. I open my file...and you go tell yours. Waiting for them is courteous, yes. But that’s just another way of being a coward like me. What if they don’t take a test, ever? Hmm? You’ll be waiting, on your moral high ground, alone as your own opportunity slips by. So tell yours. And I...I will acknowledge whoever mine is.”

 

“Can’t really ask for more than that. And hey, I’m proud of you.” She put on a corny therapist voice, “We made a lot of progress this week, a lot of progress. Keep up with your dream journal, and I’ll see you next week for my next nine hundred dollar hour.” Cat snorted.

 

“Nine hundred? Please. I pay top dollar for my therapy and secrecy- one thousand five hundred for big emotional reveals like this.”

 

“...I can send you my PayPal details?”

 

“You can work in the garbage room?”

 

“See, you keep saying that, but I’m getting the impression you don’t really mean it. I’m at least mailroom material.

 

“Oh please, you wouldn’t last an hour in there. What, you think _anyone_ can work in the mailroom? It’s ruthless in there. One mishandled package and you get the building evacuated for a bomb threat.”

 

“...Really?”

 

“The last person who thought they could handle the mailroom cost me my Keurig.”

 

“Wow.” She was stunned. “Wait, wasn’t that Kiera?”

 

“Hmm, yes,” Cat hummed, “I sent her there to learn how to organise. She destroyed the mail chute and we lost a scoop because of the evacuation.”

 

“And you didn’t fire her?”

 

“...I did. She came back the next day, passably hot latte in hand, with a list of employees stealing office supplies and selling stories to competitors. Apparently, people in the mailroom like to talk. And read mail. Admittedly, in cases it is allowed, to ensure I’m not being sent anthrax, but they didn’t even have the sense to do it out of work- they sent stories through snail mail and email. And didn’t think to clear any of their history. They deserved to be caught.” Cat sniffed.

 

“Holy shit. Wait, no. I mean, yes, holy shit. But, nope, off topic. I, will put the phone down, pack my stuff and go find my soulmate. Do you want me to do that before you open the file?”

 

“...Yes. Wait- don’t, don’t hang up. Just set it down. Then wait a minute. I will do it. A deal’s a deal. I just-”

 

“Don’t want to be alone?”

 

A sound came through, like someone shaking their head, hair rustling of the receiver.

 

“Okay.” She soothed. “It’s been wonderful talking to you Cat. I have always been a huge fan. I hope it all works out for you.”

 

“Likewise.”

 

The receptionist set the phone down, not hanging up as instructed. She turned her back to the desk as she started to gather her things, giving a semblance of privacy to Cat. Across town, the mogul was staring at the file in her hands. She took a breath, steeled her courage and, with shaking hands, opened it.

 

Barely audible to anyone who might have stood next to her, let alone through a phone now set beside her, she gasped.

 

“Kara.”

 

The swish of a cape behind her, the tap of red boots landing on the balcony. The sound of desperate, heated kissing. None quite made it through the phone line, though small sighs of names, unmistakable, yet quiet, moans did manage to echo in the empty office. Darling, my love, zhao. The receptionist heard none though. Just like she didn’t see the computer screen finally change.

MATCHED  
Kara Danvers: Match.  
Strength: Strong   
Top 0.2% of compatibility (compared to all others in database as of last accuracy check- JUN16)

 

Unknown to the balcony occupants, the clock slowly ticked to read ten fifteen.

 

The universe shivered, a feeling passing through all living things. Everything, in that moment, was as it should be.

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, this is very very late. I am very sorry. I am failing two of my courses, so I put them first, but I wanted to finish this. I still need to finish the other two, but they will likely be very short, as I have other prompts I want to fill, my other SCW fic I want to finish, and mocks to revise for. Probably should prioritise them. :(   
> Let me know any errors, if anything confused you, if I need to tag anything. And thanks for reading! Comments and kudos make my day!


End file.
